


Rose, this is why you can't have nice things

by Daja



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Cafe AU, F/F, because im scum and i wanted to write a fluffy coffee shop au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-08 21:54:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4322133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daja/pseuds/Daja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oh no. Hot barista. Rose, dont you dare fuck this up with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The routine was simple. Leave the house on your bike. Make sure to wear the gilterly helmet that your mother bought you, all those years ago. Wouldn’t want her to think that you have forgotten how… thoughtful she is. And aren’t you so thoughtful for being thoughtful about her being thoughtful. We are ignoring the part where we acknowledge that you no longer live at home, and she has no way of knowing whether or not you are wearing the helmet. We are ignoring the part where we acknowledge that you may be homesick.

 

But anywho, to continue. Bike the short distance to the cafe. Lock up bike, clip helmet to your bag. Enter the tiny cafe, New Grounds. See your reflection in the glass of the fine china case. Pass the assortment of locally produced soaps, stuffed animals, holiday cards and scarves. Pass the three tables. Turn left. Look at their entire wall of tea. All organic, of course, because it wouldn't be an adequately pretentious cafe if everything wasn’t ORGANIC, and preferably FREE TRADE. Whatever free trade actually means. It must be a good thing, because it has the word free in it, and certainly we in the United States of Freemerica can have nothing less. You are tempted to text Dave, in a series of single word texts, so that he might have the joy of understand what it’s like to receive his texts. But you refrain. You have much more important things to attend to than karmic retribution.

 

Now. What tea do you desire. There are the herbals, Hibiscus Sunset, Rooibos Red Bush South African Red Tea tea, Roasted Yerba Mate Chai tea, and, of course, Dr. Ackerman’s Blend. What more do you need to know than that it’s the blend that Dr. Ackerman prefers? You’re eyes skim over the whites and the decafs, not nearly ridiculous enough names and not nearly enough caffeine. You consider the Matcha Green Tea Powder tea, for a moment, then the Jasmine Dragon Phoenix Pearls. If only a few more mythical beasts had been included in the name, then that might have been the perfect tea for today, alas.

 

“You know, each day that you come in, we wait with bated breath to see what tea you will pick. You are always so… diligent with your selection.”

 

Oh no. Hot barista. Actually all the baristas at this cafe where hot. Was that part of the application? Make sure that you can make a perfect double macchiato with soy milk, but also have eyebrows that are on point. Tattoos are highly advisable, but not required. Not that you have noticed the small equal sign on her hand, but you totally noticed the small equal sign on her hand.

 

Rose, say something, you’re quiet has passed from contemplative to aloof and is edging on rude. The very tall, and very attractive woman is looking at you. Do not get distracted with how the green of her hijab matches the green of her eyes, don’t you dare be so trite.

 

“You just have such a variety, every day I want to make sure that the I am choosing the most suiting tea for me. Otherwise, it would be a waste of your indulgent selection. Although, I must admit, I endeavor to try them all. Hopefully I’ll have enough moods to encompass such an assortment.”

 

“Is it a deterrent to inform you that we attempt to rotate our teas every few months, and thus you must have to expand your  capacity for tea different moods?” She’s just standing there, with perfect posture, beside you. Not restocking, not making a drink. Just casually talking to you.

 

“More of an incentive to come more than once a week.” That’s not flirting is it? You don’t want to be one of THOSE people. Dont flirt with people when they have to be kind in return. More noteworthy, people who work at cafe’s. Most noteworthy, the woman right in beside you. Dont put them in that situation. As much as you may fancy the barista and how she has those tiny smiles, and always seems very earnest, well, that was until she picked up on your sarcasm. Nope. You will not let yourself be that kind of scum.

 

Even though you kinda want to become that kind of scum.

 

“So, presider of this caffeine establishment, I am having a hard time finding out what tea suits today. Do you suppose you could make a few suggestions?” That is a completely acceptable question to ask. Four for you, Rose Lalonde, Four for you. Way not to be a creep.

 

“I mean, what's your favourite?” Still acceptable, but seriously, shut up now.

 

“I want to drink what all the so called cool kids are drinking.” OH MY FUCK , SHUT UP NOW.

 

Luckily, luckily this cafe goddess only snorts at your ridiculousness and doesn’t slowly back away.

 

“In as much as I am privy to what these so called cool kids are drinking now a days, I severely doubt it is tea to begin with. Not that tea is objectionable, but because our clientele fits more with in the range of 30-50 year old women, preferably of the teacher variety. And, while they all have the capacity to be both sweet and amusing, they do not fall under the category of cool or kids.” A quick glance around the tiny cafe revealed only one such person is present, sitting facing the window, reading the news paper. “With the marked exception of yourself, of course, who can both be categorized as cool and a kid.”

 

“Excuse you, I will have you know that I am very adult with all of the adulting things I do. In fact, just yesterday I paid a bill. For my apartment. Which I have. Like many adults my age. Furthermore, I must warn you that the last person to call me cool was severely disappointed, so precede with that assumption at your own risk.” Your attempts to stay calm are mediocre at best, but at least you are not one to blush when you are flustered.

  
  


“Your concern is noted, and filed away and my mental repository of facts regarding… you. Excuse me if this rude, but it seems odd to see you weekly for what must be months now and exchange casual greetings, or even longer greetings such as these, and not have a name to refer to you as. As you may have gleaned from my name tag that we are obligated to wear to demonstrate friendliness, my name is Kanaya. And you are?” She holds out her perfectly manicured, tattooed hand to shake, which is somehow formal and endearing at the same time.

 

Slipping your hand into hers, you can’t help but notice how soft it is. Wow, does this woman moisturize. “Rose. A pleasure to formally meet you, but I must ask, won't you get in trouble for just talking to me?”

 

Wow, you don’t want to stop holding her hand, not at all. But there comes a time for all great things to end, and she’s letting go of your hand, and it really would be unacceptable to continue to hold on, wouldn’t it. However, now she is smiling at you, a full smile. Not one of those half ones she tends to offer when you ask how her day is going. A full smile, with teeth and scrunching of her nose and she has tiny crow’s feet at the corner of eyes from what can only be from smiling so much.

 

“No, I do not think my employer will object to me providing excellent customer service. Additionally, I am suggesting what tea for you to purchase, and of course I will recommend the most expensive one, as my said employer has strongly suggested we do. But at your deferral of ‘no, no, no I can’t possibly justify spending 15$ for an ounce of Silver Needle Black Tea,’ I instead was forced to suggest what I found most appealing.”

 

“Of course. That is the exact conversation we are having. Word for word.” You really need to come in more often when it is not busy if this is the kind of service you received. You two have talked before, small conversations about her baby sitting on the side, you looking for a job, but always just a handful of words before the next customer was pressing forward.

 

“First and foremost, let us begin with what to avoid in our display. As a general rule, stay away from anyone that has the word “chia’ followed by ‘tea’. Tautology will not be tolerated. Not that popularised Chia is necessarily bad, just that I find it better when it is brewed at home, opposed to steeped in a cup. Perhaps that’s because of nostalgic memories of my mother making it. Unrelated, but equally important, dried mint tea is a sin, and if you want the best mint tea go to your local market and buy fresh mint. It is available. There is no excuse. As for my favourite,” She pauses, eyes squinting at the wall of selection before her, teeth chewing the black lipstick off of her lower lip.

 

Muttering under her breath, she continued “I would suggest the Jasmine Rose, but would that be too gauche with your name? Hm. No, best to stay away from that.”

 

At last she pulled a jar from the wall. “This. The Matcha Infused Genmaicha.”

 

You don’t take it. You don’t take the jar. You know you should, polite society obligates you do.  Instead you lift one eyebrow, reach out, and grab a jar from the shelf. “I appreciate your very in depth suggestions. But I think today, I am just really feeling this ‘Indian Blend Chai Tea” that you have on display. It just fits my mood so well.”

 

She’s a bit taken aback. Good. You are in control.

 

“Well. If you are feeling like being a contrarian than you have succeeded with full marks.”

 

In careful measured movements, she replaces her jar, takes yours and heads to the espresso machine to fill a glass with hot water and your loose leaf.

 

She says over her shoulder, “Terezi will ring you up.” She is not amused.

 

Rose Lalonde, why are you such an asshole. Was that necessary at all? Really? You better look sheepish at that counter. No, stop looking like you don’t regret your actions. Stop acting like you don’t care that you probably pissed off Kanaya and now she will never talk to you. Fucking dammit, Rose, this is why you can’t have nice things.

 

The barista at the till is laughing at you. To be fair she is nearly always laughing but now you feel like it is explicitly directed at your predicament. You deserve this.

 

“Managed to piss off Kanaya? Wow, only one other person I’ve known who could do that.” Cackling. “Congrats are in order!” Insert more cackling.

 

Just put down a fiver and go find a place to sit and hide behind your book. Dont over react, but really, you cannot handle having someone mocking you right now. So what if you tipped them more than what the tea actually cost. They deserve it for dealing with your ungrateful ass.

 

Manage to get a few pages into your book before you hear the clink of ceramic on table. Kanaya had not only brought you your tea in a nice tea pot, but brought over a floral tea cup and saucer. Floral as in roses on every inch of it.

 

“Thank you for such a suiting glass. It’s so thoughtful.” You try and hide your smile. Well that is the perfect retort for your actions.

 

“Well, I thought what better way to enjoy a tea inspired of my culture than with british crockery.” She huffed, turned on her heel and walked back to the register.

 

Welp. That was not ideal. She was definitely pissed.

 

Don’t get up to get milk or sugar. Make sure to finish your tea before you leave, you utter soggy french fry. You can never come back.

  
Put on your glitter helmet and bike away you sad, miserable creature. 


	2. Look at you both be humble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose, go apologise, as best you can.

You go back to the cafe. Of course you do. How could you avoid the masochistic joy of seeing someone you fancy refuse to talk to you. It just sounds like SUCH FUN. However, you force John to accompany you. The glory of a buffer, and someone to physically hide behind if the situation calls for it. Upon reflection, you are surprised that Kanaya didnt slap you after what you did. You are the worst. It is you.

“Rose, get outta your head! I can see you do that thing where you go round and round in there. Come on, if you’re gonna drag me here, you’re gonna buy me something with chocolate and whip cream!” Tugging your hand, John practically dragged you from his shitty thunderbird to the back entrance of the cafe.

So much for having a set ritual. 

You are able to free your hand, re-adjust your skirt, and make sure your headband is on straight before entering. You got this. You’re cool, remember how Kanaya called you cool? You are totally cool. And calm.

“Stop stalling! LE’S GO!” He was bouncing on the balls of his feet with eagerness.

Patience truly wasn't one of his virtues. But perhaps it was or the best, something to balance out your ability to suffer through almost anything. 

Ok.

Enter shop. See your reflection in the glass of the fine china case.

Where John stopped. 

“Ooooo, look at these! This one has horses on it! And this one has squid, or an octopus, or a squidpus? Whatever, its perfect for you. You should get it and put it with all our other weird tentacle stuff. Didnt Jade get you that octopus tea pot last year for your birthday? First of all, weird. But isn’t that kinda perfect having them together. You and Jade are both kinda really weird.” 

You stop to look at the cups that he is pointing at. Its not that you haven't seen them a thousand times before, it's just that you never really noticed. You are even considering doing as he says and purchasing such a ridiculous thing, until you see the price tag. Well, it was fun to entertain the thought of having a nice tea cup at home. Alas. 

“Jonathan, unless you want to spend seventy dollars on me, that is just a vision of indulgence and not reality. I.E, there is no way in hell I’m spending what amounts to my electricity bill on porcelain. Especially when I have a nice cat mug that I stole from Roxy that treats me just fine.”

Still, he stands close enough for his breath to fog up the glass, hands leaving smudges. Time to get him moving before the case is completely covered in the grease of his fingers. 

Hooking your finger through the back of his shirt, you pull him towards the copious amounts of teas. You know exactly what you are going to get, you just need to get there. You can feel the eyes of the two baristas on you two. How could you not, they are less than five feet away, and no one else in the shop, you just happen to be above acknowledging anyone who may or may not be mocking you. 

Even with John struggling, hunched over to accommodate your much shorter stature, and trying to pick up every locally produced soap, stuffed animal, holiday card and scarf, you are finally able to reach the teas. 

Of course he starts opening every jar and taking big, loud snorts. 

“Arent you suppose to be the biologist out of the two of us? Should you not know about gently wafting scents instead of snorting so loudly the entire cafe can hear you?” 

“Yeah, but that’s only for caustic things! Nothing here is going to burn my nose. Well, actually I wouldn't put it past you to put some sort of dangerous chemical in your tea. Remind me never to let you into my lab. I can just imagine all the things that would go missing!” John’s voice slightly echoed as he spoke into a near empty jar of Camomile. 

“I was hoping to find my way into your laboratory to gather some more information for one of my short stories, and if some poorly labeled bottles happen to go missing, well, I thought you would not notice. Alas, how I pine, you are now onto my devious plans! But for now, let us continue to the till, I have the tea that I so desire.” Oh yes, you have the jar clutched in your hands so tightly that they are turning white. 

Dropping his voice, John whispered, “Are you going to do the thing? Remember those words we practice. You’re gonna be fine, trust me. I’m really proud that you are going to do it.” He had on that big grin.

John, you a really are a precious cinnamon roll, too good for this world. Too pure. 

“I... yes. Now, shush and hover behind me, and don’t let me leave until I do… the thing.” So calm. So collected. You are totally not going to make a fool of yourself. Everything is going to be fine. 

And suddenly you are at the till. Ready to make your order. Its Kanaya standing before you. Wasn’t Terezi there just moments before? Looking around, you can’t find her at all. A soft elbow into your side has you clearing your throat and beginning. 

“Hello Kanaya. I hope today finds you well. I would like the most sugary, chocolately concoction topped in whipped cream you can make, as well as a pot of tea with this. Please. For here. Please.” You place the glass jar on the counter.

She reaches for it, and you see that half smile that you love--uh, like--so much. You hope she appreciates your gesture of reconciliation. 

“It would appear that you have improved tastes since last I saw you.” 

“Yes. Well. A lot can change in a few days. I mean to say that-,” and she cuts you off. 

“But I have been informed by my co worker that it is possible that I reacted to vehemently. When my peers were told the story, they sided with her and her,” she gave a small cough, “undisputed ability to understand the minds of those around her. And, in her most humble opinion, suggest that I not judge you so harshly for being a pain. And possible you did not understand the implication of buying the most stereotypical indian tea from a woman with Indian heritage, who had explicitly warned you off it. So, I have made the presumption that you have simply never had proper Masala Chai before, and I made you this,” reaching under the counter, she grabbed a small bag and placed it before you. You noticed the small tattoo on her hand again. “It has everything that you will need, and a list of instructions so that you might enjoy it as I enjoy it in my own home.”

She worries the hem of her long sleeve shirt. Is that a nervous tick? And the darkening of her cheeks can’t be anything but a blush. 

Another elbow in your side. Harder this time.

“Uh. Thank you. I will attempt to follow the instructions as faithfully as possible. And thank you for excusing my behavior last time, although I must say that I am,” more throat clearing, lots of throat clearing, a kick in the ankle, “sorry for being, as you said, a pain. Its one of my unfortunate character flaws, which I have plenty of. It seems that this chapter of my life is dedicated to mollifying them.” 

What was it that Dave told you? That you need to stop referring to your life like it’s a novel. Apparently It puts people ‘off’. More specifically he said, people don’t have character arcs, but you are fairly sure that is a lie.

Paying, and grabbing your gift, you let John steer you to a empty table. 

“So, lets see what’s in the bag!” John stopped short of actually opening it himself, but his waggling eyebrows showed his barely contained excitement. 

“She told us herself, it’s to make tea. I would assume a few tea bags, of her favoured brand perhaps?” Still, you are curious. She did mention instructions? You knew how to boil water, and place tea bags into a cup. Even how to add milk to your specific taste.

It is clear you are wrong. The bag held tiny dime bags with different spices. A list detailing what each one was. A step by step instruction of how to boil milk and water and the spiced together? There was even a small metal strainer with tag taped to it that read “please return.” What have you gotten into. You can’t cook. You are going to be the first person in the history of the world to burn tea. 

“Remember that time that I attempted to make you brownies for your birthday, so that you have an alternative to the ubiquitous cake? This will be worse than that wont, it.” If you were someone else, you might be looking across the table at John with pleading eyes. As it was, you only allowed slight exasperation into your voice. 

His big hands covered yours, giving them a small squeeze. “Probably, but if you want, I can help you out?” His eyes looked past your shoulder, his expression quickly going from concerned to all smiles. “Oh, thanks for bringing it to us. We were just looking at what you gave Rose. She was just saying how she cant-”

You kick him under the table. Black flat connecting with kneecap. Revenge. 

“How, I can’t wait to make this.” You give Kanaya a smile to try and distract her from where you were squeezing John’s hand that previously had been so comforting. 

She puts down your drinks. Looks from you to John. To you. To John. 

Without a word, she turns and walks briskly back the till, where a small line has begun to form.

Oh no. Oh noooooooo. You finally let of your death grip of John’s hand, so that you can cover your face with both of your’s. Fuck Dave and his ‘people don’t have character arcs’ and ‘we live in the real world, and there are not tropes or a script’ bullshit because you are fairly sure that you just committed yourself to the ‘imaginary love triangle’ trope. 

Muffled by your hands, you manage to say, “She thinks we're dating.”

John erupts in a fit of coughing and wheezing. He slams his fist into his chest to try and clear his throat, showing absolutely no sense of decorum. As much as you appreciate his incredulous reaction, you wish he could be a bit more discrete. 

At last he was finally able to gasp out, “I-what. How do you know? And, geez way to make me almost die.” He went back to sucking down his drink.

“She saw us holding hands, and how she just turned away so abruptly, and it wouldn’t be the first time someone has mistaken me for straight. Or even that we are dating.”

“Thats super awkward. Also, this drink is totally amazing. But, how did you know you even had a chance? I mean, that tea stuff could have just been a friend thing? Friends give each other things!” 

“Completely ignoring that comment because I do not feel like it justifies response, did you see the tattoo on her hand?”

“The little equal sign? Yeah, I thought that just meant she liked math. Dude, you have to try this drink.”

“Or, let us entertain this possibility that it is the equal sign is actually the Human Right’s logo that is now ubiquitous with LBGT+. Just a possiblity.”

“Oh. Well. You know, she could just be an ally?”

“An ally will put the sticker on their car. Not tattoo it on their skin. So, in conclusion, considering the tattoo and the reconciliatory gift, it is fair to say that there perhaps maybe was the slightest chance. But now she thinks we’re dating. And all my chances are gone.”

“Thats easy! I just need to tell her how not together and purely friends we are. The most friends.”

“I forbid you from going up there and saying anything of that sort.”

“Or how about if I,” he pulled out his phone, opened it up to his pictures and raised his voice, “SO THIS IS ME AND ROXY. TOGETHER. ON OUR DATE. LOOK AT US BEING CUTE AND COUPLEY. BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT WE ARE. A COUPLE. AS IN TWO PEOPLE ROMANTICALLY INVOLVED.”

Every one in the shop stopped. Everyone’s eyes were on the both of you. Addendum. Everyone’s eyes were on John. 

Even Kanaya’s. And she had that half smile. 

Sometimes you want to sew John’s lips shut. But now you could kiss him. In a purely platonic way. With utterly no romance involved. 

Truly, a precious cinnamon roll. Too good. Too pure. 

But also, “John, please never talk again.”

One trope down. Now you just have to make this tea without burning it, yourself, or your hopes.


	3. Cow titties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dave talks about cow titties, rose has social anxiety apparently. the grocery store is terrifying

            The lengths you will go to impress a girl is truly impressive. Goddamn your gay little heart, it would be so much easier if you didn’t care. If you could have just said “thank you, Kanaya, for your kind gift but really I’m a culinary catastrophe and I must refuse,” or “ please never talk to me or my 37 books again. I just came here to read,” or what if you could have been suave and have said something like “how about you come back to my place and show me how to make this tea” accompanied with waggled eyebrows. Actually scratch that one; it would probably get you slapped.

            But instead of all those preferred outcomes, because even being slapped was better this, here you are going out to buy milk. Going to a store, grabbing more milk than you could reasonably use before the expiration date, and talking to people. To buy milk. For tea. Doesn’t she know you’re bad at talking to people? One of the employees asked how you were and you responded “only slightly possessed by waking nightmares today.” How has Kanaya not learned that you are TERRIBLE with people. Doesn’t she realize that this is why you go to a café? Specifically her café? In your ideal world no one would talk to you unless you engaged them in conversation first. The exception being attractive women. Who are super queer. And into you. You’re fairly sure everyone at New Grounds are at least SUPER ATTRACTIVE so you can live with mentally screaming as you make small talk with them. The café is a safe space. The grocery store is not.

            No, this going out and buying milk is really to much pressure. To many people. To many OPTIONS.

            Well, if your friends can’t physically be here to hold your hand, then they can be cellularly….digitally…. via phone call.

            “Jade, I need you to make a decision for me and I need you to not ask why.” The reception is poor, but that can only be expected from an international call. But damnit, this is an emergency.

            “Hi rose! I’m kinda in the middle –“

            “What kind of milk should I buy.”

            “Rooooose you know I don’t eat dairy, why’re you asking?”

            “Look, just answer the question.”

            “Is it for a girl? I bet it’s for a girl! You’re so soft and squishy on the inside, I knew it! What’s her name!?”

            End call. Immediately.

            You take a moment to morn the loss of flip phones and how satisfying hanging up use to be. Stabbing the screen with your finger truly pails in comparison to the satisfying click. Alas. So it goes. Ashes to ashes, obsolete to obsolete.

Not that you use to talk on flip phones much when they were a thing. Not that you’re sure why you thought calling would be a smart thing to do now. No, better to go back to the safety of texting…

Well that is until you’re rudely interrupted by your phone vibrating. Over and over again. A constant string of messages until you can finally open Dave’s texts.

 

Dave: 

jade just called said you were asking about milk? why are you asking the lactose intolerant one about milk. wtf rose. its like you arent even thinking and dont you even think of asking me. i dont touch the stuff, damn cow titty juice. why does it have to be opaque like that. you arent suppose to drink things that arent clear. water. clear. apple juice. a golden glow but clear. even fucking orange soda is clear if you can see through all the bubbles. but no you got to drink some unholy meat juice that you cant see through. it could be hiding anything rose. do you know what the milk is doing when you close the fridge door? anything rose. anything. is that what you want. and dont get me started on the farmers getting off on touching them cow titties. damn farms stroking them nipples for that white jizz. youre drinking cow nipple jizz, rose, what the fuck is wrong with you are you going to get whole jizz or just 2%? rose. rose are you listening? 2 % Jjzz milk. thats hilarious. laugh at my jokes

 

Rose: 

Lmao. Or perhaps Rofl

 

Dave:

perfect. anyways. jade hit me up to tell me about your dairy fetish and she said you hung up on her and i was like ‘wow was it because of a girl’ and she was all like ‘ya I think so too’ and then i was like ‘wow so rude you think her mother would have taught her better’

 

Rose:

As much as I question your knowledge of bovine anatomy and as much as I am curious as to when you picked up out of date valley girl colloquialisms, I must ask, do you have a point?

 

Dave: 

oh ya. jade says buy low fat milk

 

Well. That solves that. You turn your conversation to Dave to Do Not Disturb and go on with your merry way. Maybe shopping isn’t be so hard.

 

Wtf is happening. The milk is in the pot. Well you think it’s a pot, just a low sided very wide pot. That you are using to boil milk. Just like the Instructions said. Well, actually it says simmer, but that’s just basically the same thing as a boil right? But the milk is breaking up and clotting and its just plain gross.

Who thought this was a good idea. Certainly not you, that’s who.

Fuck this. Fuck this tea. Fuck trying to impress girls. Fuck everything.

You can just never see Kanaya again. Because if she asks how it went your going to answer ‘terribly,’ or ‘one of the worst experiences of my life,’ or even ‘worse than that time my mother got drunk at my prom and then tried to instigate a mother-daughter dance and we were the only one on the dance floor because she is spry and very good and finding where I’m hiding.”

And then Kanaya would know all about your…complex relationship with your mother and she would never want to talk to you again because you clearly have issues that you are not dealing with. So its better that you just head this whole thing off and just never speak to her again.

Lets do better than that. Lets never leave the house again.

This corner is fine.

The smell of burning milk is fine.

Everything. Is. Fine.

Ok maybe the burnt milk smell isn’t fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, can you tell i dont have a beta. anywho. i figured i havent updated this in like A YEAR because yes im still working on this. the next chapter will probably have good guy john saving the train wreck that is rose lalonde. i mean, not that rose would ask for help. just that john is a good friend or something.
> 
> if you see any obvious edits, please message so i can fix it!

**Author's Note:**

> This is not beta'd, sorry! hope you like it, and please, any critiques let me know in the comments.
> 
> more chapters in the works!


End file.
